


The Return of the Prince

by Bevan



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Cursed Child - Thorne & Rowling
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-02
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-08-19 03:49:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8188484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bevan/pseuds/Bevan
Summary: Long after the end of the war, Severus returns as the emissary of the Druids to the Magical Council that has become a potent, but quarrelsome, force for change and progress since the war. Harry finally gets to know the Severus he met in memory, but whom he had thought he had lost forever to death.This story will make some attempt to incorporate The Cursed Child as canon, but still takes an AU path.





	1. Chapter 1

Minerva cast a quick Sonorus charm and rapped her knuckles against the podium for silence. “Enough. We won’t solve all the world’s problems today.” She gave a quick nod of acknowledgement to the delegation of Veela that had quietly slipped in a line between the contending goblin and vampire contingents, the physical separation bringing a sudden end to their heated discussions on wealth management strategies. 

Glancing around the gathered delegations of magical peoples, with a few intrepid muggles from the mixed communities among them, Minerva noted an anticipation and edginess that had nothing to do with the ongoing discussions of how to resolve the contemporary issues affecting them all. A new delegate, an unknown quantity, would be joining them today.

“As you all know,” she began, “the Druidic Unified Directorate has turned down your petition to reinstate the old reign of the High Kings of the North Reach. They were clear in their belief that we should together be best able to address the problems besetting us so long as we keep clear minds and cool heads, and don’t hide from modern evolutions.” She briefly stopped to shake her head in sheer wonderment at their ivory tower aloofness and failure to comprehend the problems on the ground. She took a deep breath and went gamely forward.

“However,” she paused for effect in a very professorial manner, old habits having a tendency to manifest whenever she was lecturing large groups, “The DUD has deigned to grace us with one of the members of its ruling council, who should be arriving shortly.”

“Wonderful,” she heard Lucius Malfoy mutter not quite under his breath, “some senile, meddling, old dud who will amuse himself offering bad advice until things are much worse than when he arrived….”

Minerva gave Lucius an admonishing glare, even while privately agreeing with him, and continued: “I expect everyone to give the Druid the deference and respect due to the office, and hold off on any further conflict until after his or her visit.”

“Hopefully brief,” she heard Lucius whisper. She could not suppress a humorous quirk of her lips in response.

The assembled delegates were beginning to fidget in impatience. Centaurs were swishing their tails and shifting from hoof to hoof; merfolk were making small splashes as they ducked back under the lake; elves were nervously flicking dust and leaves off of the pediments of the Gathering Ground, buffing the marble to a high sheen, and the trolls were beginning to make worrisome movements in the back that were making the benches and pillars groan. 

A sudden rush of noise and movement from the direction of the Main Gate galvanized their attention. Necks of various shapes and lengths craned to get a better look. Striding boldly at the head of a contingent of auror honor guards from the gate was a Druid with the silver-chased, shining white robes and tall magical staff of high office. The length and vigor of his fluid stride belied the age that they had been expecting. As did the thick mane of wavy black hair that fanned out behind him in the wake of his determined trek forward. 

The Druid bowed his head briefly as he placed his right fist over his heart in the time-honored gesture of respect. Then he looked up and his eyes met Minerva’s. Her face went white with shock. 

“Severus?” Her lips formed the word, but no sound came out. Her mouth remained half open as if waiting for words her brain could not quite form.

Lucius had half-risen from his seat at the innate recognition of the familiar stride and posture, and now slowly sank back down into a sitting position like a cutout made of folded paper.   
*******

It was the first chance Harry had had to speak with Severus alone since his sudden return to Britain as the Druid emissary to the Council of Magical Beings. He asked, “How?... I saw you die; I was there when it happened. I felt you die….”

Severus nodded. “And so I did. I was ready. I was tired of… everything.”

“It was just like one reads about with others’ “near death” experiences. I was astonished. I felt myself essentially floating upward, up a long column or tunnel of sorts, toward a great light. Inexplicably, I felt warmth, and joy, and love, perhaps.” He scowled mildly at Potter. “Don’t laugh.”

Harry looked back in open puzzlement. “Why would I laugh? I never got to the part of death where you head into the beyond. I want to know what it’s like. What you experienced. Dumbledore hadn’t gotten there either when I met him. …If I met him….”

Severus, with one last piercing gaze to ascertain Harry’s sincerity, continued: “The journey felt like it took a very long time, but I had no way to measure time at that point. It might have been a matter of seconds, or of hours. As I appeared to get closer to the light, I saw people I recognized clustered around the threshold. My mother, your mother, even your father in the background. But not Albus. Which surprised me a little, but not as much as it might have.”

Harry interjected, “He wasn’t there yet. He was still in the in-between place where I met him later.”

Severus nodded. “So it seems.”

He continued quietly. “As I neared the threshold, I was about to go over into the light. I had nearly grasped your mother’s outstretched hand when I was yanked back. Hard. And I felt myself falling back again, as the light and the joy dwindled in the distance. It felt like I was burning on my way down; I saw flames. But it was strangely painless. It was almost funny. I thought that that silly, binary muggle notion of the afterlife must be true after all, and that the powers that be had finally realized they made a mistake, and were now sending me back down to the muggle Hell where they thought I belonged.”

“The fall seemed to take a long time also. Just like the ascent. And I was considering the miscreants I would be facing once again and sharing the afterlife with. The importunate Karkaroff for instance, who was always so fond of certain younger, dark wizards. And then suddenly I landed, rather hard, on my back.”

“I took a few moments to orient myself before opening my eyes to face what I believed would be Hell. The surface I was on was hard, and warm. But I didn’t feel the flames or hear the expected noise of Hell. There was a sort of indeterminate noise in the distance, but I could not tell what it signified. Maybe the noise of a crowd.”

“I took stock of my own state. I felt weak, as from blood loss, but no real pain. I opened my eyes and found that I was on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, exactly where I had been before, lying in a pool of my own dried blood, and some ash or dust, apparently alive. And I considered the question and found that against all expectations, I wanted to live. I tried raising myself up on my arm, just to see if I could, and looked around me. There was a black scorch mark outlining where I had lain, and the ash. So the burning had been real. My robes were gone and my wand. I found myself naked and wandless, but the mark on my arm was gone; in fact, all of my scars appeared to be gone. And I could feel no wound at my throat, barely a line where there might have been a scar. It was an interesting experience, but I still do not know what brought me back from death.”

Harry offered quietly, “Perhaps the will to live.”

“Perhaps,” Severus said doubtfully. “In any event, I was aware that whatever had happened after my death by Nagini, whomever had won the war, if anyone had yet at that point, I did not want to be found naked, wandless, and weak …by either side. So I gathered my remaining strength and Apparated to the Druidic enclave outside Rouen. It took me six Apparitions, resting in between, when usually it would have been an effortless one. Dumbledore had said the Druids would always offer sanctuary to those who truly sought it. And indeed they gave me asylum, and healed my wounds. After a short time, when I was feeling I physically strong and well again, I became aware that I needed healing to not just my body, but my mind, my heart, …my soul. They offered me all of these things. It was a difficult course of healing. And I took up the Druidic path – it helped me to balance and place things in perspective. I became a full Druid 5 years ago. It normally takes 19 years,” he said with a wry smile, “but apparently I got extra credit for serving under Dumbledore for so many years. He was a Druid too, though he took his orders at the Apple Isle.”

“Dumbledore was a Druid?” Harry asked blankly.

“Yes, though he had parted ways some time back with the enclave on the Apple Isle,” Severus clarified. “Apparently Albus felt that the world needed the Druids to fulfill their traditional role, going out among the people as judges, healers, and lawgivers, and meddlers of all stripes. But of course, the Druids in recent centuries have been mostly scholars who gather in retreat in the Druidic enclaves, and spend their lives in discussion, meditation, and study, away from the world and its problems.”

“You remained away…. It’s been almost 25 years…,” Harry responded.

Severus acknowledged the fact. “Yes. I was aware it would do only harm to return before I was ready, in my mind and in my heart. Some things heal very slowly. Some not at all. And it has always been my downfall that I react badly to reminders of old pain. I needed to be past that before I returned here to Magical Britain. There were too many bad memories as reminders. That is why I eschewed the Apple Isle for Rouen in the first place. …And in the aftermath of the war, I did not want to be within the jurisdiction of the Ministry, whatever happened.”

Harry persevered, “You would have been safe. Kingsley became Minister after the war, and he respected you, and knew your role in the war… as much as anyone. And Hermione is Minister now.”

“Fabulous,” Severus said dryly.

Harry’s eyes brightened and his lips quirked upward at the return to the familiar demeanor that he recalled so well. “Will you stay?” he asked quietly.

“If I am needed,” Severus said.

“You are,” Harry inserted quickly. Coloring slightly, he quickly added, “By Minerva, Hogwarts, the Malfoys, the Council of Magical Beings, the Order, the Ministry, …everyone.” He looked up and confronted it; Snape still intimidated him and made him feel like a child again, but no way was he going to give in to it. 

“And I can’t even tell you how glad I am that you’re alive and that we have you back home. You were missed. Deeply.” Harry stopped before he said too much and caused Severus to occlude and put up his considerable defensive walls to distance himself.

Severus dipped his head slightly in acknowledgement. “Let’s go back to the castle. Surely it will be time for the evening meal by the time we reach the Great Hall.” 

Harry turned with him and silently accompanied him on the walk back to the castle, basking in the quiet joy of having his shadow mentor back in his life again, with the added bonus that they finally seemed to be on civil speaking terms.


	2. The Prince and the Potter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Severus continue to work to reach some understanding, not just of each other, but of their places in life, and what they want to do with those lives.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please leave comments; they are much appreciated. Thank you!

Harry turned to Severus, but his eyes were focused in the distance, remembering. “That summer after the Battle was the strangest many of us ever experienced. So many people remained camped on the grounds of Hogwarts after the Dark Lord’s fall, but we were all aware that these refugees had to be gone by September 1st when the students returned. Despite the destruction, Minerva wasn’t going to let Hogwarts close; she was determined to rebuild. And you should have seen the rebuilding efforts that summer. We all helped. And even though much remained in ruins, like the Causeway, she had everything necessary rebuilt by fall.” Harry still shook his head in wonderment at the memories. Had he not seen it all, it wouldn’t have seemed possible.

Harry named the groups that had camped out that summer on the grounds. “Refugees from Hogsmeade and the area around who had lost their homes in the final violence of the war, even some muggles who wandered in with the rest seeking shelter in the aftermath, witches and wizards who had been Imperiused by the Death Eaters and found themselves disoriented on a bloody battlefield after the curse lifted, and even the Malfoys, whom no one was certain what to do with. Narcissa was considered one of the great heroes of the Battle, for lying to the Dark Lord and saving my life; Draco hadn’t participated in the Battle, and he had saved me and my friends back at the Manor. And despite all his attempts, he had never been able to bring himself to do the Dark deeds asked of him under duress. Lucius too, was considered something less than a true Death Eater, since every mission he ever led had failed; his heart just didn’t seem in it to most folks. And Lucius helped Kingsley and the Aurors sort out the true Death Eaters and followers of the Dark Lord from the Imperiused and others forced into service despite their will due to family ties and such. But he wasn’t allowed to travel out of the grounds or return to the Manor, in case he might try to run. If you were there that summer though, it was pretty clear that none of the Malfoys were going to abandon each other. Lucius and Narcissa had abandoned Voldemort and his troops at the height of his apparent victory in order to find Draco. Had the Dark Lord won, I can’t imagine that that would have gone over very well.” Harry still couldn’t be complacent about the victory of the Light. He knew they had been a hair’s breadth away from defeat. And he still had his doubts that the Malfoys had even wanted Voldemort’s return or victory. He remembered Draco’s offer of friendship on his first trip to Hogwarts, and the sight of those Dark sympathizers that he had thought were Lucius and Narcissa fleeing in panic the first time that the Dark Mark reappeared in the sky: over the Quidditch World Cup site.

Harry returned to his description of the aftermath to Severus. “Minerva was content to let the refugees stay on the grounds, since so much was still unsettled after the Battle. Angry followers of the Dark Lord and wannabes who just liked carte blanche to create mayhem and who were angry their sponsor was now gone attacked Hogwarts from time to time as well as muggles and Ministry sites. Angry Ministry employees who didn’t like the changes wrought by Kingsley made trouble from within. And Aurors, MLE, and others who thought the “wrong side” hadn’t been punished enough also attacked Hogwarts as well as witches and wizards they considered Dark or Dark sympathizers. Hogwarts, as site of the Final Battle, was on the hit list of everyone who had a beef with how the war had played out. For a while, it was chaos, and threatened to turn into another war. Only no one could figure out what the “sides” were, so it finally settled down towards mid-August.” 

Harry pointed towards the castle walls. “Those auror and civilian guards became a fixture immediately after the Battle. Initially, they were a mix of Aurors Kingsley assigned, awol Aurors who didn’t trust the Ministry anymore, no matter who ran it, and civilan volunteers from among the refugees and ex-Imperiused. It was an interesting mix.” He smiled wryly. “Minerva liked it that way – felt it helped to have guardians from every side during those unsettled times. And it kept the Ministry from coming in and taking control of Hogwarts. Even under Kingsley, a fellow member of the Order, she didn’t trust the Ministry. She felt that those with unclear status, like the Malfoys and the ex-Imperiused, were safer in the refugee camp than in Ministry hands. So everyone remained til the end of summer, though only students and staff were allowed into the castle.”

“All summer, no one was certain whether Lucius Malfoy, and maybe Draco too, would be hauled off to Azkaban or not. Lucius always seemed pretty resigned to that fate, and was more than a little surprised when at the end of the summer he was sent to be one of the governing council of the refugee settlement out west.” Harry shrugged. “Ithink if he had been less than honest with Kingsley and the Aurors about who was who on the Dark side, things might’ve gone differently. But he was useful, and he also took charge of organizing the refugee relief efforts on the grounds, calling in old favors with his Ministry and pureblood connections to obtain food, clothing, and magical tents. He also provided the land for the refugee resettlement out in the west country from some undeveloped Malfoy property. Kingsley let him, as a form of reparation. And I don’t think Kingsley or anyone else wanted to send the wrong message publicly by punishing Narcissa and taking away her family after she had been one of the keys to victory of the Light in the Battle, even if her heroic act’s primary purpose had been to get her to Draco.” 

Harry looked over at Severus, gauing his reaction. “Even before the end of the war, the bards, poets, and musicians were busy spinning romantic tales about the war and its heroes.” His lips curled up in amusement, remembering. “Some of these were absolutely ridiculous. And false. Others contained more painful truth than we were comfortable with. Ron loved them all, except for a couple that painted him as little more than comic relief.” He laughed, remembering Ron’s reactions. He saw Severus’ lips twitch in amusement.

“I had never been a friend to the Malfoys,” Harry added unnecessarily, “but I had to let Kingsley know that there had been several times when they saved my life. Narcissa in the Battle. Draco at the Manor. And in the Hall of Prophecy, Lucius did everything he could to try and spare my life. He was just after the Prophecy. Thank Merlin that Bellatrix wasn’t in charge of that mission.” Harry shuddered slightly and took a draught of his ale.

“And then there’s Dobby, the Malfoys’ elf,” Harry continued with sadness in his tone. “Everyone insists he could not have come to warn me if his Master hadn’t let him. And all the stuff Kreacher told Narcissa: she could’ve used that against me, yet it doesn’t seem like that information went on to the Dark Lord. So while Lucius and Draco weren’t exactly exonerated, they weren’t imprisoned or truly disgraced either.”

Harry looked up hesitantly. “I did think you should be exonerated though. All you did, and no one knew, except Dumbledore, and he was gone.” He paused. “I had mentioned some of what I learned from your memories while dueling the Dark Lord that final time. I wanted him to know that the servant he had killed, over a stupid misunderstanding, wasn’t even his.”

Harry glanced up again to see how Severus was taking it, that he had so blithely blurted out his secrets, though it had seemed harmless at the time: Harry had thought Severus was dead and would never know. He looked back down again, remembering. “Everyone watching our duel heard me. But after the battle, I showed Kingsley, Minerva, Arthur, and Elphias Doge, reinstated to the Wizangamot, the memories in the pensieve. To corroborate my story. There had been times in the past where the press and public opinion turned on me, calling me a liar; so this time, I wanted to be sure that other people, reliable people, saw the evidence.” He took a deep breath. “I also showed Narcissa the memories, so someone reliable from the “other” side could vouch for the truth.”

“What did you do with them after?” Severus queried.

“Do you want them back?” Harry asked, looking up abruptly.

The intense black eyes met the green ones. “No,” Severus said quietly, his low tones thoughtful. “I find it easier to live with those memories drained of their emotional content. I hope you destroyed them; they were very personal.”

Harry shifted nervously. “Not exactly.” 

“Well, you could destroy them now. Or are they at the Ministry?” Severus asked with an edge of worry in his tone.

“No, not that either.” Harry looked away.

“Well where are they then?” Severus pressed, exasperated.

“Since your portrait had not appeared naturally, I got Minerva to commission one, and we mixed the memories with the paint, to give authenticity to the portrait. Like it might have had had it appeared naturally from the walls of Hogwarts like all the other portraits."

“Wonderful,” Severus groaned. “That is a terrible burden to place on the shoulders of a hapless portrait. Especially mine,” he growled.

“He doesn’t seem to mind.” Harry considered. “Or at least, he hasn’t said anything about that anyway….” Harry trailed off, recalling some of the diatribes he’d heard from that particular portrait on other matters, not the least of which was that he had been brought from peaceful nonexistence to hang for all time in endless tedium upon the walls of the headmaster’s office. “Would you like to meet him?” Harry asked hopefully.

“I have never been much inclined to talk to myself. That was more Dumbledore’s knack,” Severus replied somewhat curtly, taking a bracing sip from his glass of cognac.

These meetings between the two, following dinners in the Great Hall, had become a regular habit since Severus’ return to Hogwarts and Magical Britain. Both Harry and Severus found that they still had a need to unburden themselves of some of their thoughts and experiences of the past, and each found the other to be the one in the best position to understand. Their discussions were a therapy that neither would admit. 

Harry mirrored Severus’ gesture, draining the last of his own glass of dark ale. Severus wordlessly summoned another pint through the half open doors out onto the terrace of his guest quarters. Harry took it appreciatively, and they both sat quietly for a measure of time, looking out over the grounds as twilight deepened. A thestral whickered softly in the night. There was a last minute flurry of activity as cartfuls of supplies went to and from the greenhouses and barns, though activity around the gamekeeper’s new hut had dwindled to a soft glow through the windows and a tendril of smoke wafting out the chimney.

Severus’ low drawl broke the silence. “Were your fans surprised when after the excitement of your year on the hunt and your victory in the Final Battle, you chose to remain behind at Hogwarts as an Eighth Year student, rather than seeking your fame and fortune in politics or some other adventure?”

Harry laughed. “Much as the media might have preferred it, I most certainly was no Gilderoy Lockhart.” His brow furrowed as looked back on that time. He sighed wearily. 

“No, most of all, I was tired after all of that. I wanted to rest, as anonymously as possible, safe inside the walls of Hogwarts. I couldn’t thank Minerva enough for the extra security.” He chuckled. “And I was aware that although everyone thought I was some powerful super-wizard because I had finally destroyed the Dark Lord, it wasn’t really my power that had done it; it was his own, working through me, plus all the assistance I had over the years from you, Dumbledore, my friends, and even my enemies on occasion.” His words brought back sudden memories of how Barty Crouch, Jr., hardcore Death Eater, disguised as equally hardcore Auror Alastair Moody, had helped him through his fourth year to stay alive through the Tri-Wizard Tournament. And not for the first time, he wondered what in Merlin’s name they had all been thinking in setting up such a complicated scenario in order to bring him to the Dark Lord. They could have simply put the portkey in among his Quidditch kit and avoided the whole Tournament fiasco altogether. But of course, it was the Dark Lord’s penchant for dramatic scenarios which had led directly to his downfall. He could have just ignored the Prophecy, and they would probably all be bowing down to him even now. Once again, Harry reminded himself that there was no reasoning out the ways and means of insanity.

“When the war was over, I found myself in the rather odd position of having to consider what to do with my future. After all,” he commented wryly, “for several years by that point, I hadn’t expected to have a future. The Prophecy basically said that I couldn’t live either, and the talks with Dumbledore in your memories only seemed to confirm that. So I walked into that Battle expecting to die. And I wasn’t as upset about that as people might think. It was almost going to be a relief to be done with it all. And then, when it was all over, and I was still alive, I found myself in the awkward position of wondering whatever I was going to do with the rest of my life.”  
“I relate to that,” Severus seconded quietly. “More than you might expect.”

Harry looked at Severus with complete understanding. Their paths in some ways had been more similar than not. They had both been Dumbledore’s weapons of war. Weapons that had been abandoned at a critical point by their wielder, with only themselves to rely on to finish the war and preserve themselves or not.


	3. Truth in the Telling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry answers a serious query with humor, and gets more than he bargained for. Or does he?  
>  ************************************

“The Council will be meeting with two of their Continental equivalents this Spring. It was announced this morning. Is that what everyone had their heads together discussing this morning?” Severus looked across the little table where he sat with Harry on his terrace. He recalled the concerned looks that he had seen on the staff’s faces as they whispered to Harry over breakfast this morning when he had glanced in as he walked past the Great Hall on his way back to his rooms from a morning walk.

“No,” Harry responded. “You and Lucius were the topic of this morning’s discussion.”

“Why?” Severus looked nonplussed.

Harry handed Severus the morning edition of The Daily Prophet, folded back to a page somewhere in the middle of paper. He pointed at a small article on the upper half of the page.

“Is the highly anticipated left-hand bonding of the Malfoy patriarch with his long-term partner to be the event of the season?” the society page headline gushed over a photo of Lucius Malfoy exiting Amiezel, currently the romantic wizarding restaurant of choice, with Narcissa on one arm and Severus on the other, all dressed in variations of the Malfoy colors of vibrant blue, silver, white, and black. Severus rolled his eyes and dropped the paper back on the table. He sent a quick Scourgify charm over his fingertips, his usual reaction to The Prophet. In the weeks following the end of the war, the paper and its staff had promised to make their publication more relevant and fact based, but the efforts in that direction had been rather selective, leaving most of the wizarding “news” publication a wasteland of speculation and misdirection.

Harry eyed the photo, applying the powers of conscious observation he had learned from Kingsley Shacklebolt. Harry had always relied on his instincts, not realizing that those were built from unconscious observations, and apt ones at that. Kingsley had taught him to use those skills, acquired during an uncertain childhood with the Dursleys where he was always on the defense, in a conscious manner. He noted what most did not: Lucius’ avian aspect. Lucius was the preening male peacock, who had chosen fiercer, if less flamboyant, mates. Both Narcissa and Severus were more powerful and courageous than Lucius, like female birds of prey, who were larger and more deadly than the males. Lucius was, however, much more intelligent and magically adept than people gave him credit for, and exceedingly devoted to his mates and his family.

Severus sighed, and addressed Harry’s challenge. “Lucius and I have had that discussion. The time for that has passed. And passed long ago. I will always cherish him, his family, and their place in my life, but should I ever engage in a left-hand bond, it will not be that particular Malfoy bond.” He turned his head and pinned Harry with his trademark glare. “What is your interest in the matter anyway?”

“Would you believe that I’m in love with you?” Harry quipped.

“No,” Severus declared curtly.

“Well then,” Harry riposted, undaunted, “I guess I’ll just have to confess: I was working on getting an exclusive to sell to The Prophet – ‘The Secret Love Life of the Elusive Severus Snape’...” He smirked.

Both of Severus' brows rose simultaneously. “Your sense of humor has always been questionable,” he declared to the now smiling Harry, whose hair, as usual, was jutting out at various preposterous angles as it framed the cheeky grin.

“At least I have one.” Harry waved his wand, causing the numeral one to appear over his side of the table, and a zero to appear over Severus’ side.

Severus fixed the young war hero with a burning gaze. Harry shivered.

“You’re in a dangerous mood today,” Severus drawled in low, silky tones, sending another delicious shiver down Harrys’ spine.

“You know me: reckless and feckless,” Harry proclaimed. “You may as well take advantage of it and enjoy the game.”

“Perhaps I will at that,” Severus answered, his dark gaze boring into Harry’s very soul. Severus lifted a languid hand that reached across the table and grasped Harry’s chin in an iron grip. He drew Harry’s head forward until their noses were only an inch apart. “Now is where you say ‘no’ if you wish.”

Harry’s breath fluttered out between his slightly parted lips. “I say ‘yes’,” he breathed.

“Ever the foolishly courageous Gryffindor,” Severus uttered before bringing their lips together.


	4. Wizarding Ways and Means

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And so it begins.

Harry responded strongly, and then clung to Severus, as if in fear that should he let go, he would never get to touch again.

Severus glowered down at him. “If this was your wish, why did you never indicate it?”

“Because of you and Lucius. You have been with him often since you returned; it is public knowledge,” Harry answered, glancing down at the Prophet, still folded back to the offending page.

Severus rolled his eyes in exasperation. “Lucius does not own me. We are neither bonded nor betrothed. You do not have to ask his permission or mine to indicate your interest; you simply do it. Either in a bumbling Gryffindor manner, as seems your wont, or via any one of the methods of wizarding courtship.” His voice darkened ominously. “Do you still know so little of wizarding ways- you the designated Saviour of Wizarding Britain?” His eyes raked over the younger wizard, as if cataloging his flaws. “Your education has been remiss. It is almost an embarrassment.”

Despite the insulting indictment, Harry’s lips twitched upward. Severus was a natural professor. He just could not keep himself from lecturing and teaching, whatever the occasion. Harry’s eyes widened ever so slightly as he realized how interesting that tendency could be should they both continue down the instant path.


End file.
